Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc'd by fate, And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate

Who from the burning town by thee were brought,

Thy fortune follow'd, and thy safety wrought.

Thro' seas and lands as we thy steps attend,

So shall our care thy glorious race befriend.

An ample realm for thee thy fates ordain,

A town that o'er the conquer'd world shall reign.

Thou, mighty walls for mighty nations build;

Nor let thy weary mind to labors yield:

But change thy seat; for not the Delian god,

Nor we, have giv'n thee Crete for our abode.

A land there is, Hesperia call'd of old,

(The soil is fruitful, and the natives bold-

Th' Oenotrians held it once,) by later fame

Now call'd Italia, from the leader's name.

lasius there and Dardanus were born;

From thence we came, and thither must return.

Rise, and thy sire with these glad tidings greet.

Search Italy; for Jove denies thee Crete.'

"Astonish'd at their voices and their sight,

(Nor were they dreams, but visions of the night;

I saw, I knew their faces, and descried,

In perfect view, their hair with fillets tied;)

I started from my couch; a clammy sweat

On all my limbs and shiv'ring body sate.

To heav'n I lift my hands with pious haste,

And sacred incense in the flames I cast.

Thus to the gods their perfect honors done,

More cheerful, to my good old sire I run,

And tell the pleasing news. In little space

He found his error of the double race;

Not, as before he deem'd, deriv'd from Crete;

No more deluded by the doubtful seat:

Then said: 'O son, turmoil'd in Trojan fate!

Such things as these Cassandra did relate.

This day revives within my mind what she

Foretold of Troy renew'd in Italy,

And Latian lands; but who could then have thought

That Phrygian gods to Latium should be brought,

Or who believ'd what mad Cassandra taught?

Now let us go where Phoebus leads the way.'

"He said; and we with glad consent obey,

Forsake the seat, and, leaving few behind,

We spread our sails before the willing wind.

Now from the sight of land our galleys move,

With only seas around and skies above;

When o'er our heads descends a burst of rain,

And night with sable clouds involves the main;

The ruffling winds the foamy billows raise;

The scatter'd fleet is forc'd to sev'ral ways;

The face of heav'n is ravish'd from our eyes,

And in redoubled peals the roaring thunder flies.

Cast from our course, we wander in the dark.

No stars to guide, no point of land to mark.

Ev'n Palinurus no distinction found

Betwixt the night and day; such darkness reign'd around.

Three starless nights the doubtful navy strays,

Without distinction, and three sunless days;

The fourth renews the light, and, from our shrouds,

We view a rising land, like distant clouds;

The mountain-tops confirm the pleasing sight,

And curling smoke ascending from their height.

The canvas falls; their oars the sailors ply;

From the rude strokes the whirling waters fly.

At length I land upon the Strophades,

Safe from the danger of the stormy seas.

Those isles are compass'd by th' Ionian main,

The dire abode where the foul Harpies reign,

Forc'd by the winged warriors to repair

To their old homes, and leave their costly fare.

Monsters more fierce offended Heav'n ne'er sent

From hell's abyss, for human punishment:

With virgin faces, but with wombs obscene,

Foul paunches, and with ordure still unclean;

With claws for hands, and looks for ever lean.

"We landed at the port, and soon beheld

Fat herds of oxen graze the flow'ry field,

And wanton goats without a keeper stray'd.

With weapons we the welcome prey invade,

Then call the gods for partners of our feast,

And Jove himself, the chief invited guest.

We spread the tables on the greensward ground;

We feed with hunger, and the bowls go round;

When from the mountain-tops, with hideous cry,

And clatt'ring wings, the hungry Harpies fly;

They snatch the meat, defiling all they find,

And, parting, leave a loathsome stench behind.

Close by a hollow rock, again we sit,

New dress the dinner, and the beds refit,

Secure from sight, beneath a pleasing shade,

Where tufted trees a native arbor made.

Again the holy fires on altars burn;

And once again the rav'nous birds return,

Or from the dark recesses where they lie,

Or from another quarter of the sky;

With filthy claws their odious meal repeat,

And mix their loathsome ordures with their meat.

I bid my friends for vengeance then prepare,

And with the hellish nation wage the war.

They, as commanded, for the fight provide,

And in the grass their glitt'ring weapons hide;

Then, when along the crooked shore we hear

Their clatt'ring wings, and saw the foes appear,

Misenus sounds a charge: we take th' alarm,

And our strong hands with swords and bucklers arm.

In this new kind of combat all employ

Their utmost force, the monsters to destroy.

In vain- the fated skin is proof to wounds;

And from their plumes the shining sword rebounds.

At length rebuff'd, they leave their mangled prey,

And their stretch'd pinions to the skies display.

Yet one remain'd- the messenger of Fate:

High on a craggy cliff Celaeno sate,

And thus her dismal errand did relate:

'What! not contented with our oxen slain,

Dare you with Heav'n an impious war maintain,

And drive the Harpies from their native reign?

Heed therefore what I say; and keep in mind

What Jove decrees, what Phoebus has design'd,

And I, the Furies' queen, from both relate-

You seek th' Italian shores, foredoom'd by fate:

Th' Italian shores are granted you to find,

And a safe passage to the port assign'd.

But know, that ere your promis'd walls you build,

My curses shall severely be fulfill'd.

Fierce famine is your lot for this misdeed,

Reduc'd to grind the plates on which you feed.'

She said, and to the neighb'ring forest flew.

Our courage fails us, and our fears renew.

Hopeless to win by war, to pray'rs we fall,

And on th' offended Harpies humbly call,

And whether gods or birds obscene they were,

Our vows for pardon and for peace prefer.

But old Anchises, off'ring sacrifice,

And lifting up to heav'n his hands and eyes,

Ador'd the greater gods: 'Avert,' said he,

'These omens; render vain this prophecy,

And from th' impending curse a pious people free!'
"Thus having said, he bids us put to sea;

We loose from shore our haulsers, and obey,

And soon with swelling sails pursue the wat'ry way.

Amidst our course, Zacynthian woods appear;

And next by rocky Neritos we steer:

We fly from Ithaca's detested shore,

And curse the land which dire Ulysses bore.

At length Leucate's cloudy top appears,

And the Sun's temple, which the sailor fears.

Resolv'd to breathe a while from labor past,

Our crooked anchors from the prow we cast,

And joyful to the little city haste.

Here, safe beyond our hopes, our vows we pay

To Jove, the guide and patron of our way.

The customs of our country we pursue,

And Trojan games on Actian shores renew.

Our youth their naked limbs besmear with oil,

And exercise the wrastlers' noble toil;

Pleas'd to have sail'd so long before the wind,

And left so many Grecian towns behind.

The sun had now fulfill'd his annual course,

And Boreas on the seas display'd his force:

I fix'd upon the temple's lofty door

The brazen shield which vanquish'd Abas bore;

The verse beneath my name and action speaks:

'These arms Aeneas took from conqu'ring Greeks.'

Then I command to weigh; the seamen ply

Their sweeping oars; the smoking billows fly.

The sight of high Phaeacia soon we lost,

And skimm'd along Epirus' rocky coast.

"Then to Chaonia's port our course we bend,

And, landed, to Buthrotus' heights ascend.

Here wondrous things were loudly blaz'd fame:

How Helenus reviv'd the Trojan name,

And reign'd in Greece; that Priam's captive son

Succeeded Pyrrhus in his bed and throne;

And fair Andromache, restor'd by fate,

Once more was happy in a Trojan mate.

I leave my galleys riding in the port,

And long to see the new Dardanian court.

By chance, the mournful queen, before the gate,

Then solemniz'd her former husband's fate.

Green altars, rais'd of turf, with gifts she crown'd,

And sacred priests in order stand around,

And thrice the name of hapless Hector sound.

The grove itself resembles Ida's wood;

And Simois seem'd the well-dissembled flood.

But when at nearer distance she beheld

My shining armor and my Trojan shield,

Astonish'd at the sight, the vital heat

Forsakes her limbs; her veins no longer beat:

She faints, she falls, and scarce recov'ring strength,

Thus, with a falt'ring tongue, she speaks at length:
"'Are you alive, O goddess-born?' she said,

'Or if a ghost, then where is Hector's shade?'

At this, she cast a loud and frightful cry.

With broken words I made this brief reply:

'All of me that remains appears in sight;

I live, if living be to loathe the light.

No phantom; but I drag a wretched life,

My fate resembling that of Hector's wife.

What have you suffer'd since you lost your lord?

By what strange blessing are you now restor'd?

Still are you Hector's? or is Hector fled,

And his remembrance lost in Pyrrhus' bed?'

With eyes dejected, in a lowly tone,

After a modest pause she thus begun:

"'O only happy maid of Priam's race,

Whom death deliver'd from the foes' embrace!

Commanded on Achilles' tomb to die,

Not forc'd, like us, to hard captivity,

Or in a haughty master's arms to lie.

In Grecian ships unhappy we were borne,

Endur'd the victor's lust, sustain'd the scorn:

Thus I submitted to the lawless pride

Of Pyrrhus, more a handmaid than a bride.

Cloy'd with possession, he forsook my bed,

And Helen's lovely daughter sought to wed;

Then me to Trojan Helenus resign'd,

And his two slaves in equal marriage join'd;

Till young Orestes, pierc'd with deep despair,

And longing to redeem the promis'd fair,

Before Apollo's altar slew the ravisher.

By Pyrrhus' death the kingdom we regain'd:

At least one half with Helenus remain'd.

Our part, from Chaon, he Chaonia calls,

And names from Pergamus his rising walls.

But you, what fates have landed on our coast?

What gods have sent you, or what storms have toss'd?

Does young Ascanius life and health enjoy,

Sav'd from the ruins of unhappy Troy?

O tell me how his mother's loss he bears,

What hopes are promis'd from his blooming years,

How much of Hector in his face appears?'

She spoke; and mix'd her speech with mournful cries,

And fruitless tears came trickling from her eyes.
"At length her lord descends upon the plain,

In pomp, attended with a num'rous train;

Receives his friends, and to the city leads,

And tears of joy amidst his welcome sheds.

Proceeding on, another Troy I see,

Or, in less compass, Troy's epitome.

A riv'let by the name of Xanthus ran,

And I embrace the Scaean gate again.

My friends in porticoes were entertain'd,

And feasts and pleasures thro' the city reign'd.

The tables fill'd the spacious hall around,

And golden bowls with sparkling wine were crown'd.

Two days we pass'd in mirth, till friendly gales,

Blown from the supplied our swelling sails.

Then to the royal seer I thus began:

'O thou, who know'st, beyond the reach of man,

The laws of heav'n, and what the stars decree;

Whom Phoebus taught unerring prophecy,

From his own tripod, and his holy tree;

Skill'd in the wing'd inhabitants of air,

What auspices their notes and flights declare:

O say- for all religious rites portend

A happy voyage, and a prosp'rous end;

And ev'ry power and omen of the sky

Direct my course for destin'd Italy;

But only dire Celaeno, from the gods,

A dismal famine fatally forebodes-

O say what dangers I am first to shun,

What toils vanquish, and what course to run.'
"The prophet first with sacrifice adores

The greater gods; their pardon then implores;

Unbinds the fillet from his holy head;

To Phoebus, next, my trembling steps he led,

Full of religious doubts and awful dread.

Then, with his god possess'd, before the shrine,

These words proceeded from his mouth divine:

'O goddess-born, (for Heav'n's appointed will,

With greater auspices of good than ill,

Foreshows thy voyage, and thy course directs;

Thy fates conspire, and Jove himself protects,)

Of many things some few I shall explain,

Teach thee to shun the dangers of the main,

And how at length the promis'd shore to gain.

The rest the fates from Helenus conceal,

And Juno's angry pow'r forbids to tell.

First, then, that happy shore, that seems so nigh,

Will far from your deluded wishes fly;

Long tracts of seas divide your hopes from Italy:

For you must cruise along Sicilian shores,

And stem the currents with your struggling oars;

Then round th' Italian coast your navy steer;

And, after this, to Circe's island veer;

And, last, before your new foundations rise,

Must pass the Stygian lake, and view the nether skies.

Now mark the signs of future ease and rest,

And bear them safely treasur'd in thy breast.

When, in the shady shelter of a wood,

And near the margin of a gentle flood,

Thou shalt behold a sow upon the ground,

With thirty sucking young encompass'd round;

The dam and offspring white as falling snow-

These on thy city shall their name bestow,

And there shall end thy labors and thy woe.

Nor let the threaten'd famine fright thy mind,

For Phoebus will assist, and Fate the way will find.

Let not thy course to that ill coast be bent,

Which fronts from far th' Epirian continent:

Those parts are all by Grecian foes possess'd;

The salvage Locrians here the shores infest;

There fierce Idomeneus his city builds,

And guards with arms the Salentinian fields;

And on the mountain's brow Petilia stands,

Which Philoctetes with his troops commands.

Ev'n when thy fleet is landed on the shore,

And priests with holy vows the gods adore,

Then with a purple veil involve your eyes,

Lest hostile faces blast the sacrifice.

These rites and customs to the rest commend,

That to your pious race they may descend.

"'When, parted hence, the wind, that ready waits

For Sicily, shall bear you to the straits

Where proud Pelorus opes a wider way,

Tack to the larboard, and stand off to sea:

Veer starboard sea and land. Th' Italian shore

And fair Sicilia's coast were one, before

An earthquake caus'd the flaw: the roaring tides

The passage broke that land from land divides;

And where the lands retir'd, the rushing ocean rides.

Distinguish'd by the straits, on either hand,

Now rising cities in long order stand,

And fruitful fields: so much can time invade

The mold'ring work that beauteous Nature made.

Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:

Charybdis roaring on the left presides,

And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;

Then spouts them from below: with fury driv'n,

The waves mount up and wash the face of heav'n.

But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,

The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,

Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,

And virgin bosom, hides her tail's disgrace:

Her parts obscene below the waves descend,

With dogs inclos'd, and in a dolphin end.

'T is safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,

And coast Pachynus, tho' with more delay,

Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,

And the loud yell of wat'ry wolves to hear.

"'Besides, if faith to Helenus be due,

And if prophetic Phoebus tell me true,

Do not this precept of your friend forget,

Which therefore more than once I must repeat:

Above the rest, great Juno's name adore;

Pay vows to Juno; Juno's aid implore.

Let gifts be to the mighty queen design'd,

And mollify with pray'rs her haughty mind.

Thus, at the length, your passage shall be free,

And you shall safe descend on Italy.

Arriv'd at Cumae, when you view the flood

Of black Avernus, and the sounding wood,

The mad prophetic Sibyl you shall find,

Dark in a cave, and on a rock reclin'd.

She sings the fates, and, in her frantic fits,

The notes and names, inscrib'd, to leafs commits.

What she commits to leafs, in order laid,

Before the cavern's entrance are display'd:

Unmov'd they lie; but, if a blast of wind

Without, or vapors issue from behind,

The leafs are borne aloft in liquid air,

And she resumes no more her museful care,

Nor gathers from the rocks her scatter'd verse,

Nor sets in order what the winds disperse.

Thus, many not succeeding, most upbraid

The madness of the visionary maid,

And with loud curses leave the mystic shade.
"'Think it not loss of time a while to stay,

Tho' thy companions chide thy long delay;

Tho' summon'd to the seas, tho' pleasing gales

Invite thy course, and stretch thy swelling sails:

But beg the sacred priestess to relate

With willing words, and not to write thy fate.

The fierce Italian people she will show,

And all thy wars, and all thy future woe,

And what thou may'st avoid, and what must undergo.

She shall direct thy course, instruct thy mind,

And teach thee how the happy shores to find.

This is what Heav'n allows me to relate:

Now part in peace; pursue thy better fate,

And raise, by strength of arms, the Trojan state.'

"This when the priest with friendly voice declar'd,

He gave me license, and rich gifts prepar'd:

Bounteous of treasure, he supplied my want

With heavy gold, and polish'd elephant;

Then Dodonaean caldrons put on board,

And ev'ry ship with sums of silver stor'd.

A trusty coat of mail to me he sent,

Thrice chain'd with gold, for use and ornament;

The helm of Pyrrhus added to the rest,

That flourish'd with a plume and waving crest.

Nor was my sire forgotten, nor my friends;

And large recruits he to my navy sends:

Men, horses, captains, arms, and warlike stores;

Supplies new pilots, and new sweeping oars.

Meantime, my sire commands to hoist our sails,

Lest we should lose the first auspicious gales.

"The prophet bless'd the parting crew, and last,

With words like these, his ancient friend embrac'd:

'Old happy man, the care of gods above,

Whom heav'nly Venus honor'd with her love,

And twice preserv'd thy life, when Troy was lost,

Behold from far the wish'd Ausonian coast:

There land; but take a larger compass round,

For that before is all forbidden ground.

The shore that Phoebus has design'd for you,

At farther distance lies, conceal'd from view.

Go happy hence, and seek your new abodes,

Blest in a son, and favor'd by the gods:

For I with useless words prolong your stay,

When southern gales have summon'd you away.'

"Nor less the queen our parting thence deplor'd,

Nor was less bounteous than her Trojan lord.

A noble present to my son she brought,

A robe with flow'rs on golden tissue wrought,

A phrygian vest; and loads with gifts beside

Of precious texture, and of Asian pride.

'Accept,' she said, 'these monuments of love,

Which in my youth with happier hands I wove:

Regard these trifles for the giver's sake;

'T is the last present Hector's wife can make.

Thou call'st my lost Astyanax to mind;

In thee his features and his form I find:

His eyes so sparkled with a lively flame;

Such were his motions; such was all his frame;

And ah! had Heav'n so pleas'd, his years had been the same.'
"With tears I took my last adieu, and said:

'Your fortune, happy pair, already made,

Leaves you no farther wish. My diff'rent state,

Avoiding one, incurs another fate.

To you a quiet seat the gods allow:

You have no shores to search, no seas to plow,

Nor fields of flying Italy to chase:

(Deluding visions, and a vain embrace!)

You see another Simois, and enjoy

The labor of your hands, another Troy,

With better auspice than her ancient tow'rs,

And less obnoxious to the Grecian pow'rs.

If e'er the gods, whom I with vows adore,

Conduct my steps to Tiber's happy shore;

If ever I ascend the Latian throne,

And build a city I may call my own;

As both of us our birth from Troy derive,

So let our kindred lines in concord live,

And both in acts of equal friendship strive.

Our fortunes, good or bad, shall be the same:

The double Troy shall differ but in name;

That what we now begin may never end,

But long to late posterity descend.'
"Near the Ceraunian rocks our course we bore;

The shortest passage to th' Italian shore.

Now had the sun withdrawn his radiant light,

And hills were hid in dusky shades of night:

We land, and, on the bosom Of the ground,

A safe retreat and a bare lodging found.

Close by the shore we lay; the sailors keep

Their watches, and the rest securely sleep.

The night, proceeding on with silent pace,

Stood in her noon, and view'd with equal face

Her steepy rise and her declining race.

Then wakeful Palinurus rose, to spy

The face of heav'n, and the nocturnal sky;

And listen'd ev'ry breath of air to try;

Observes the stars, and notes their sliding course,

The Pleiads, Hyads, and their wat'ry force;

And both the Bears is careful to behold,

And bright Orion, arm'd with burnish'd gold.

Then, when he saw no threat'ning tempest nigh,

But a sure promise of a settled sky,

He gave the sign to weigh; we break our sleep,

Forsake the pleasing shore, and plow the deep.

"And now the rising morn with rosy light

Adorns the skies, and puts the stars to flight;

When we from far, like bluish mists, descry

The hills, and then the plains, of Italy.

Achates first pronounc'd the joyful sound;

Then, 'Italy!' the cheerful crew rebound.

My sire Anchises crown'd a cup with wine,